


I Wish I Could Believe You'd Never Ruin Me

by ideservetobeloved



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ryan leaves, and Brendon is heartbroken, fucked up timeline probably, pretty much just hurt tbh, sorry - Freeform, without the comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8840818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideservetobeloved/pseuds/ideservetobeloved
Summary: In the movies there is always that one fateful moment when people have a big fight or something and then go their separate ways without talking to each other ever again. It wasn’t like this with them. They just… didn’t talk anymore. They went from seeing each other everyday and texting every single minute they weren’t together, to occasional meet-ups on weekends and scattered text conversations, to radio silence for weeks on end and then finally an e-mail from their manager stating that Ryan Ross was not, in fact, a member of Panic! At the Disco anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Heyy I'm back yay :D  
> Tbh this is just a giant piece of heartbreak and gay (yes I'm using gay as a noun), so if that's what you like, keep on reading...  
> I'm not a native English speaker so if you find any mistakes language-wise, you can keep them... I'm relatively new to the fandom, so I'm sorry if the timelines are fucked up (e.g. I don't know when Brendon started using Periscope or whatever). I also do not claim to know how Ryan's departure happened or why, or anything about Brendon and Ryan's relationship, so basically nothing in this related to reality.
> 
> (Oh, and some shameless self-promotion: [my tumblr](http://weyheytheyregay.tumblr.com/) It's very gay I'm so sorry)
> 
> Title from the song House Of Memories by Panic! at the Disco

He just… doesn’t feel right. Hasn’t felt right ever since Ryan left. He is stuck in the wrong skin, yearning for a love (or perhaps more the _idea_ of a love) that he could never have in the first place. It feels as if he has been pressed into an ill-shaped baking tin and now parts of him are sticking out awkwardly in weird angles, and there’s a pressure in all the wrong places, suffocating him. He is an alien in a human-shaped disguise, a skeleton with shreds of raw meat hanging off its bones, thinking it’s enough to fool other people into perceiving it as a real human being.

And Brendon knows he isn’t alone in this sense of… _falseness_. Everybody feels it. They’re tip-toeing around the subject, treating him like a ticking time bomb, but their careful glances and poorly concealed pity burn his skin and make his blood boil. He pretends he doesn’t notice and ignores the awkward, embarrassing moments of silence whenever Ryan comes up in a casual conversation, ashamed of the fact that he is _thankful_ for them, thankful that his management blacklisted questions about Ryan Ross in interviews without even asking him, thankful that the other band members accepted without a single question that he banned almost every single song from _Fever_ and _Pretty.Odd._ from their set list.

He is thankful for their consideration and their pity, and he hates himself for it.

The fans notice, he knows. They’re not dumb, far from it. They notice his squirming and awkward shifting whenever Ryan comes up in meet and greets or in the chat on Periscope, they notice how weird and unusual it is that the departure of a band member has never once come up in an interview. Of course they notice, how could he ever think they wouldn’t?

But he closes his eyes, doesn’t want to see the comments under Instagram pictures and YouTube videos, comments of angry, hurt fans that want an explanation for this shit show (and comments of heartbroken “Ryden” shippers that make him even more uncomfortable than the other ones, and also strangely sad about the fact that they saw something that wasn’t there even though he wished for it so much). Eventually the comments stop, or at least subside slowly, and it makes him feel guilty and relieved at the same time and he doesn’t know which one is less justified.

(In the movies there is always that one fateful moment when people have a big fight or something and then go their separate ways without talking to each other ever again. It wasn’t like this with them. They just… didn’t talk anymore.

They went from seeing each other everyday and texting every single minute they weren’t together, to occasional meet-ups on weekends and scattered text conversations, to radio silence for weeks on end and then finally an e-mail from their manager stating that Ryan Ross was not, in fact, a member of _Panic! At the Disco_ anymore. Brendon often wonders if there was something that he could have made better, something to stop him from leaving but he doesn’t think there is, which makes him feel incredibly guilty once again, and he doesn’t even know why.

Deep down he knows he wouldn’t change anything, even if he could. No matter how pretentious and fucked up things are right now, he doesn’t believe he could have taken it if Ryan had stayed.)

The first time he sees Ryan again, almost two years after their departure, is because their management wants the band to talk about a potential reunion show with the members who left (that never ends up happening), and so Ryan needs to be there. Of course, Brendon knows this. He totally didn’t spend the whole night awake, pacing up and down in his room preparing himself mentally for having to see this stupid, beautiful face again.

As soon as his eyes meet Ryan’s chocolate colored ones, every single ounce of carefully crafted confidence that he thought he had built up shrinks into a cold hard knot that sits heavily inside his stomach and blocks up his throat. He wants to puke and hug Ryan and cry and kiss this stupidly beautiful face and curl up in a blanket and never see the world again.

He swallows thickly around the lump stuck in his throat and manages to choke out a “Hey” as he quickly sits down. It comes out quiet and small, making him sound like a shy first-grader, which makes him want to punch himself in the face because why the fuck is he not able to keep himself together? He is a grown man; he shouldn’t let one person make him feel like a shy high school graduate on his prom.

He does not once avert his eyes from the slightly scratched wooden surface of the table over the course of the meeting.

Ryan catches him outside in the parking lot, when everyone already left, and Brendon would be leaving as well if he could just find his damn car keys. Of course they have to be at the very bottom of his backpack the one time he needs to get away as quick as possible.

The quiet “Brendon?” from behind his back catches him off guard and he freezes, his hand gripped tightly around the keys like a lifeline. Slowly he turns around, but doesn’t manage to look up and meet Ryan’s eyes. Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed at the other’s shoes, ragged old converse that look exactly like he is feeling right now. Trampled on, broken, unwanted.

He is such a hypocrite, he thinks, because he always tells people that talking about something is going to solve all their problems. He tells it to a friend that thinks his girlfriend is cheating on him, he tells it to his mother who has had a fallout with her own mother, he tells it to his hairdresser who complains about her ignorant friend that annoys her to death. And now, when the time comes to finally take his own advice there’s nothing he’d like to do less. For a second he contemplates just getting in the car and driving away, but that’s low, even for him.

The silence seems to stretch out endlessly, agonizing seconds (or minutes or hours) of neither of them saying a word. Brendon can feel Ryan’s gaze on him, burning his skin like acid and he feels hot red creeping up his neck. The blood rushing in his ears is way too loud and his scalp begins to itch uncomfortably.

At last, Ryan clears his throat and seems like he wants to start talking but nothing comes out of his mouth except a quiet stutter. “Do you want to talk?”, Brendon hears after a few seconds.

Finally he manages to look up into Ryan’s eyes (fuck, he forgot how beautiful they were and how easily he could get lost in them) and it feels like _every single thing that_ _he could have had with him but didn’t have because Ryan decided to run off and leave him alone to deal with the aftermath and Brendon feels fucking betrayed and disappointed but at the same time he can’t even blame Ryan because of course he has the right to go wherever he wants to and it’s not like he owes Brendon anything, and besides, who would want to stay around a hyperactive, annoying, egocentric brat like him_ hits him with the force of a thousand trucks and it _hurts_ , it hurts so goddamn much and he doesn’t know what to do and Ryan is just standing there and looking at him with his sad puppy eyes and Brendon wants him so much, he wants to have this _thing_ more than he has ever wanted anything in his entire life and he knows that if he stays here for one more second he is going to do something that he will _really_ regret.

The next thing he notices is the highway and grey clouds in front of him, rain steadily drumming on the windows, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles look like they’re going to break through the skin. He almost misses the exit he has to take; everything is just a rush of _too much_. When he finally reaches his house, he pulls up into the driveway and just sits in his car for who knows how long. It feels like days, his hands are shaking so much he can’t even unbuckle his seatbelt, so he doesn’t. As he puts his trembling fingers over his eyes he notices his cheeks are wet with tears.

When he finally calms down enough to get out of the car, it’s already dark outside and the sudden light from the motion detector in front of his door startles him. His house feels empty and cold, even his bed that has become a source of comfort for him in the past few months just seems… lonely. It’s too big, his whole house is too big, why did he buy a house fitting for a whole family when he is just living here by himself?

He lies awake for a long time, wide eyes staring into the darkness and a coldness in his heart that cannot be helped by blankets or the heating. Why can’t he just be _normal?_ Why can’t he just find some girl (or, as far as he is concerned, a guy) to marry and have kids and a dog and make music and go on tours and be happy? Why can’t Ryan just be an old friend that he had a fallout with and that he avoids to talk about but that doesn’t really bother him anymore because, well, he walked off, so screw him? Why does he have to be like this, why does he have to give Ryan so much _power_ over himself, why did Ryan turn him into a giant, antisocial mess that can’t even function normally anymore and fucking _runs away_ when he has the chance to talk everything out?

Brendon feels like a little child, he is so _ashamed_ of everything, ashamed of himself. Ashamed that he lets his friends and colleagues treat him like a baby that could throw a tantrum every minute, ashamed that he spends his weekends wandering around his house and watching old _Friends_ episodes on Netflix instead of partying and having a good time with his friends like he used to. Ashamed that he just chickened out and left Ryan standing in the parking lot without an explanation. He doesn’t even want to know what Ryan thinks of him now.

The sun is already rising and illuminating the grey, cloudy sky when Brendon finally manages to fall asleep, his dreams filled with chocolate brown eyes, broken guitar strings and empty promises.


End file.
